


Pink like a South Seas Sunrise

by PureBatWings



Category: Gilligan's Island
Genre: Bimbo Gilligan (I guess that's redundant), Born Bottom Gilligan, Cracky, Dom/sub, Gay Sex, M/M, Manipulative Professor, Professor in Charge, Semi-Benevolent Dictatorship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 21:49:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11655405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PureBatWings/pseuds/PureBatWings
Summary: Tired of the Skipper abusing Gilligan and sexually frustrated, the Professor takes matters into his own hands.Usual legal disclaimers apply. Not my characters, not for money, no copyright infringement implied.





	Pink like a South Seas Sunrise

Gilligan had, as usual, tripped over his own feet as he was going up the ladder to pile on more palm fronds on the roof of the largest hut where he, Skipper and the Professor bunked. He face-planted into the springy greenery and then crashed through a gap in between the supporting branches serving as roof beams to land with a thud on the pounded earth floor below, leaving a Gilligan sized hole behind.

“You imbecilic incompetent idiot!” yelled Skipper, kicking more dirt over his half-unconscious body after checking his flunky wasn’t dead, just knocked out. If his foot connected with the moaning young man, so much the better. One mistake had ruined three hours of hard work where he had supervised the other man’s labor-- sawing down the palm fronds with a bit of ragged metal they had salvaged off of the Minnow.

The professor glanced up from the table where he had been working on his endless calculations, trying to determine where precisely they might have ended up in the vast expanse of the western Pacific. Getting caught in a tsunami wave at the wrong time could ruin one’s whole life. It helped keep him from going crazy, poring over maps, calculating where they blew off course.

Abusing his hapless fellow sailor was apparently the Skipper’s steam valve. But it had gotten very old over the last several months to watch this dynamic replay in an endless loop. The younger man was admittedly far from the sharpest tool in the shed, but oh, how he wanted to please his Skipper. You could tell Gilligan just lived for those brief moments of praise, being called Little Buddy, approvingly, until the results of his latest mishap came to light and the cycle of abuse began again.

Fine then, the Professor thought with a brief but deep sigh, resolving himself to a plan of action. It was plain he would just need to assume control of this situation, as he had become a defacto leader soon after they had landed, uneasily sharing boss duties with Skipper. Usually the leadership divided along a brains/ brawn split, but obviously he needed to rein Skipper in before he irreparably harmed the only other useful, able bodied man on the island.

Howell was too indolent and fond of his own way to be terribly helpful, though island living had definitely made him lose some blue-blooded fat and gain some muscle. Gilligan, though skinny, was strong, and most important, he was willing to follow orders. The Professor had several sticks he could use to manipulate the Skipper. Now, he needed a carrot…

He thought back to an introduction to psychology course he had taken in college using his GI Bill benefits after the war. Amidst the theories of Skinner and Freud were some useful insights that had helped him in his career as a high school science teacher. Humans tried to avoid pain and maximize pleasure.

What pleasures did an island provide? Food, sleep, companionship or community of a sort, and… sex.

He knew for a fact that aside from the Howells, no one had been getting much nooky for quite some time. It isn’t like the walls of the huts were soundproof or set that far apart.

And if some nights there might be suspicious noises from the ladies’ hut, he wasn’t going to investigate. So he wasn’t about to manipulate the fresh-faced Mary Ann into whoring herself to Jonas Grumby, aka The Skipper. Ginger was a femme fatale in her films, to be sure, but she seemed to have little interest in himself or the two other single men on the island for a liaison.

The Howells were a couple and for all he was a manipulative bastard, he respected people who made the matrimonial monogamy thing work. His two divorces proved, in his mind, that he was polymorphously perverse as well as a cheater. As a sailor in the Navy during the war, he’d discovered that he could just as easily get his rocks off with another guy as with a dame.

No, clearly he would need to play into the Skipper’s fondness for abusing Gilligan and he would need to be the gatekeeper to sex for them both. He could manipulate the Skipper through sex with him and with Gilligan, once he had Gilligan under his sway. It was like an elegant algebraic calculation. Remove the white noise data—the Howells, the two single women who were into each other as friends and perhaps more. Despite Mary Ann’s timid flirtation with Gilligan, she really didn’t enter into his calculations.

What he had to work with were himself, Skipper, Gilligan--the three single men. The other two were doubtless as sexually frustrated as he was, he just needed to get Gilligan looking to him for approval and orders and then he could keep the Skipper in line. Clearly the first step, then, was to step in as Gilligan’s protector and the focus of his burning need to serve and please.

Then he could point out to the men the obvious solution of broadening their definitions of who might serve as an appropriate bedmate. At his discretion, of course.

“Jonas, stop! Stand down, sailor!” he bellowed as he stood up and advanced on the other man. It helped having a few inches of height and a military background to fall back on. “You will not kick a man when he’s down, you sadistic bastard, that’s unAmerican.”

The Skipper looked a bit shamefaced and ambled off to do god-knows-what, leaving the Professor to deal with the moaning mess of a man at his feet. He lifted Gilligan into his bunk and checked his vital signs as best he could. He checked Gilligan’s eyes, peeling back the eyelids. Normal dilation when he brought a lit candle up to them, so probably not a concussion. Normal heart rate and pulse, no broken bones, though he’d probably sport a few violently colored bruises for a week or two.

He stripped the young man’s dusty clothes off him, no need to make more laundry by putting him to bed dirty. Gilligan’s nipples were a lovely peachy pink like a south seas sunrise surrounded by a light dusting of chest hair. Giving into his less than purely scientific curiosity, the Professor peeked under the young man’s boxers. Oh, yes, he was as slim and well hung as the Professor had thought in his lascivious speculations when he had heard Gilligan furtively beating his meat late at night.

He replaced the underwear and brought over a wash basin and cloth and carefully wiped down the young man’s scratched face. Gilligan moaned and blinked up at the Professor.

“Wha--?” He was never eloquent even at the best of times.

“You fell through the roof and left a hole in it. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,”said Gilligan succinctly.

The Professor laughed. “Yeah, I guess you would, huh.”

Gilligan looked up at the other man.

The Professor and the Skipper were the sort of man he secretly tried to emulate. They were real men, who made few mistakes. They weren’t constantly fucking up like he was. They were smart enough to be in charge, to plan things out and not screw them up at the most critical time, like he did, all too often.

“He’s right, I am a useless idiot,” he said dolefully.

“You’re not useless, Gilligan. You were the one who cut down the palm fronds for the roof, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, but Skipper supervised, that’s the important work.” The Professor snorted to himself. The lazy bastard had brainwashed Gilligan into believing he was working rather than goofing off in the afternoon heat while his peon did actual work. Well, he could be even better at brainwashing the brainwasher, he was certain.

“I learned in the military when I was your age that the guy in charge is only as good as the people he has working for him. If your army doesn’t feel that their commander has their back, why should they fight for him? Oh sure, they’ll obey orders because it’s war and they don’t want to be shot for treason or insubordination, but that’s not the same thing as having a boss who tells you you’re doing a good job and shows you how to do it right when you don’t understand, is it?"

Gilligan sat quiet for several minutes, thinking about how Skipper didn’t even seem to like him most days, the way he yelled at him.

“Yeah, you’re right. I wish Skipper wasn’t so… impatient and mean to me. If he would just explain things until I got them, he wouldn’t need to yell at me when I messed up, because there wouldn’t be as many mistakes.”

“Why don’t you stop listening to him and taking your orders from him? We’re on the island, not the Minnow. You could have a new boss who didn’t kick you-- I could be your boss instead,” said the older man, setting his trap.

“Oh, I don’t know, Professor….” said Gilligan helplessly. His head hurt and here was the Professor wanting him to think about things, which was difficult even when he hadn’t fallen ten feet onto hard ground.

“Well,” the Professor said, patting him on the shoulder avuncularly. “You can figure out whether you want to work for a bully or not. Why don’t you rest and I’ll bring you some mangos, fish and coconut milk for supper in bed.”

**Six months later…**

He ran his hand through the salt and pepper hair of the shirtless man kneeling before him, tugging on it hard enough to hurt.

“Jonas?”

“Yes sir?” his sub inquired politely, his eyes averted until he was given permission to make eye contact. He’d turned out to have a nice high pain threshold. His well-padded ass turned a lovely pink, like a South Seas sunrise, after a spanking.

“Look at me. You have kept good control over your temper with Gilligan this past week. You deserve a reward.”

“Thank you, Professor, sir.”

“Gilligan,” he said quietly but in  a commanding tone.

His other sub, also kneeling in front of him, jumped slightly. He still expected to be harangued even though the Professor had shown himself to be a firm leader and a fair Dom, much more even tempered than the Skipper had ever been as his boss.

The young man had been a pleasant surprise to train, thought the Professor, rather than a chore. He was so compliant, still so eager to please the two men who screwed him until his ten brain cells spasmed. His fingers and tongue were talented and his stamina good.

“Your reward is you get to choose this week how Jonas takes you, before you two pleasure me.” He started to get a bit hard thinking about the possibilities.

“Yes, sir,” said Gilligan, a happy foolish grin on his face. His sex life was way better than the men he’d seen in pictures in porno magazines like _Playboy_ , _Tomorrow’s Man_ and _Vim_. “I’d like to suck him off, sir.” It just felt right to be on his knees for the older man. The Skipper was never gentle and fortunately Gilligan had found that he liked it rough.

Jonas moaned, a lusty look on his face. “Oh yeah, you love that, sucking my wet fat dick…”

The Professor gestured them into the love shack they had built some distance away from the main camp for their little adventures in discipline and sexual exploration.  He unzipped his shorts and began to frig himself with the help of a bit of handy coconut oil.

The other two awaited his command for the performance to begin. The Professor grinned. Sometimes you just had grab hold of a hard situation, so to speak, and show the other guy who was the boss. Life was good.

 


End file.
